Taxis
at Night
By
James O’Connor (I form)
They
pass, like lightning flashing.
Almost
not there, I suppose.
One hundred thousand stories
Just outside my window,
All so different, yet all the same.
I can still hear it now,
Like some crazy kind of music.
A baby was crying.
Some people, yelling in the street
As the midnight fiddle player played on.
Time may pass, generations will come and go,
But those one hundred thousand stories never fade.
They pass, like lightning flashing,
All so different, yet all the same.
The
River of Life
By
Grace Goulding (I form)
Light
Soft
Gliding
Into
a trickle.
Swaying
side to side, flowing.
A
stream tip-toeing
Into
another stream.
All
of a sudden
Bang!
Like
a bullet it slices through
Everything
in its way.
He
is strong and powerful,
Like
a cheetah hunting its prey,
Chasing
its desire.
That
small trickle
Has
turned into a
Deep,
horrific storm:
He
is raging and angry.
Yet,
he slowly calms
Down
And
takes
A
rest.
He
knows
He's
home.
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